Appetite
by dadadadum
Summary: A typical evening for a young Gaara.


a/n: Does anyone else have as much trouble coming up with titles as me? Frick.

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Far past the border of Wind, it was highly unlikely his behavior would be reported back to the higher ups. Not that he took such minor details into consideration. Even if they attempted to reprimand him, it wasn't as if they could possibly change anything about his demeanor. It was they, after all, who had created him for this purpose. Ah, and what a purpose it was.

He could almost feel Shukaku stirring, feverish, beneath his skin. Tremors ran up his spine, covered by a thick full-body carapace of sand. A smile quirked his lips, but it wasn't visible in the darkness of the forest. Tall, broad trees grew in close quarters here, obscuring what little light the moon offered. _Pity_, a harsh voice grated in his head. The show would go on, regardless of the disappointing lack of a visual. They knew what it looked like, anyway, it was the thrill they were craving now. They would have to quell it soon, or it would drive them completely mad.

"P-please..."

_Not yet. _He leaned his head back, rotating his shoulders so the tendons stretched and his bones snapped together: mild preparation. He breathed deeply. The air was languid down below the boughs, but the scent of pine and distress was gratifying. Impatience made his fingers itch, they were so very close. Shukaku growled, low and throaty. He was still savoring. That was fine, he could relish in their accomplishment as well. His eyes closed, allowing their other senses to expand and absorb as much from the situation. Fear was almost tangible in the space between himself and an unlucky merchant. _Expendable vermin, all of them. _The pleas and whimpers were pathetic, but amusing.

The man begged for mercy, not just from the demon before him, but from God, his ancestors, a fortune teller he'd sold a bottle of whiskey to in Earth country. _How detestable these humans are. _Shukaku's voice was rich with anticipation and blood lust. Vibrant agitation settled in his limbs, he was very nearly trembling. _Finish it, boy._

Slowly - though his eagerness was nearly painful, it couldn't be over too soon - he extended his arm, tasting the tension of the sand already pinning the man where he stood. An extension of his whim, sand began to slither out of the hollow gourd on his back, drifting through the trees on an imaginary breeze. The man screamed louder, unnecessary confirmation that his death was readily approaching. _What an irritating voice! I'm doing the world a favor! _The fingers of his right hand curled, but he progressed no further.

Shukaku began spitting insults, provacations, but the boy made no move. He directed his thoughts to the monster sealed within him: he could choose to not kill this man, Shukaku had no say. There was a rumble of demented laughter, and one-tail bellowed, _Don't be stupid, you want it as much as I do! _He wasn't sure whether by an act of his own design, or the creature who claimed sway over his subconscious, his hand squeezed into a fist, and the rambling cries of the merchant ended abruptly. There was a crunching, wet convolution of noise, followed by a silence broken only by the drip of moisture from the branches of nearby trees.

Through experience, they knew what had occured in a matter of seconds. Sand had compacted with overwhelming force upon the feeble body of the man, crushing his spine like a twig, splintering his rib cage and skull. His other bones would be in unrecognizable fragments, slathered with the remains of his internal organs. To accompany the display, blood was everywhere. It covered the ground in a wide radius, splashed upon the vegetation and draining into the dirt.

_Ahh... _Shukaku was blissful. His appetite would return by morning. The boy stood still for some minutes, his sand collecting from the corpse and returning to the gourd on his back. With each gust of sand and blood, the weight pulling on his shoulders increased. He accepted it, turned his eyes forward, and returned to his team's camp. One of two sleeping bags stirred, and a wary blonde emerged. She looked around for the boy, and smiled gingerly when she saw him settled near the remains of their campfire. "Watch going alright, Gaara?"

He met her gaze stoicly, and, seeing he would make no response, she went back to sleep.


End file.
